


After the Passing

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:47:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26328895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: By Nienna Calaquendi.A chance encounter, a story about elves, a cold night, and warm hobbits.
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Kudos: 1
Collections: Least Expected





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Disclaimer: I acknowledge that someone other than myself holds the copyright to these characters. No profit has been made from this story.

A haunting, otherworldly melody like the chiming of tiny bells drifted faintly through the dense woods. Frodo, nestled snugly in the crotch of an ancient oak, looked up from his book, eyes bright with curiosity. 

"Sam--wood elves!" he exclaimed. 

"Elves?" Sam echoed, looking up from his cooking, a small clay pipe held fast between his teeth. Frodo slid quickly from his perch. "Come on!" 

Thoughts of dinner suddenly forgotten, they scrambled downhill, through the thickest part of the old forest and toward the little-used West road. Although once a main trade thoroughfare, it had dwindled to nothing more than a faint dirt track. Now, however, the area around the road glowed with reflected light in the dusk, though no torches were to be seen. A company of elves, some mounted on white horses, some afoot, slowly made their way west, singing as they went. They carried brightly decorated banners bearing symbols Frodo recognized from Bilbo's books of lore. 

Sam caught Frodo's arm and pulled him to the mossy ground, sheltering behind a fallen tree. "They're going to the harbor beyond the White Towers, to the Grey Havens," Frodo said quietly. Sam crouched, transfixed, wonderment etched on his face. "They're leavin' Middle-earth," he murmured, a trace of a question in his voice. Frodo nodded, "Never to return." 

One of the passing elves suddenly looked up as if he had heard their voices, his sharp eyes scanning the forest's edge. His steps slowed, then he paused. The two hobbits ducked down behind the log, unafraid but not wishing to be caught spying. The elf raised one graceful hand in greeting, then smiled softly and continued on his way. 

"I don't know why...it makes me sad," Sam said thoughtfully once the company had passed. Finding that he still held his pipe, Sam re-lit it, drew a deep puff, and offered it shyly to Frodo. "Knowin' that they're leaving forever," he explained, sounding regretful. "That one day there won't be no more elves in Middle-earth. And if that ain't sad, I don't know what is." 

Frodo accepted the pipe and drew on it in silence. "You do know the story of why they go over the sea, don't you, Sam?" 

"I reckon I've heard bits and pieces of it enough times, from you and from Mr. Bilbo, but I don't know that I rightly understand the 'why' of it, if you follow." 

Frodo smiled, handing back the pipe. "In that case, I suggest a story by the fire--but _after_ dinner, since that tale is a long one." He rose and extended a hand to help Sam up. After the briefest hesitation, Sam wrapped his larger, callused hand around Frodo's and scrambled to his feet. 

"Many, many years ago, too many even to count, the first elves awoke under the stars in Middle-earth, in the land of Beleriand that now lies under the waves," Frodo began in his storytelling voice. Dusk had rapidly turned to nightfall and the merrily crackling fire was welcome against the growing autumn chill. He sat cross-legged while Sam stretched out nearby on his blankets, pipe close at hand, settling in for the tale with a rapt look on his face. 

"Across the sea was Aman, home of the Valar, the high powers of good that watch over all life. But the elves did not have Middle-earth all to themselves, for a dark force was already at work here. Melkor, who had been counted with the Valar before he rebelled, desired power for himself. He began to capture and torment the elves and spread fear among them. 

"The Valar took counsel and decided that they must protect the elves from Melkor. Their forces assaulted his stronghold and captured and imprisoned him. Then they decreed that all the elves should cross the sea to dwell in the Blessed Realm where no further danger could threaten them. Of the various clans of the elves, some agreed to do this right away, and some refused altogether, and some started the journey to the sea but never reached it." 

Frodo paused, a faraway look in his eyes. "You know, Sam, I've always wanted to see the Undying Lands, from the first time Bilbo told me stories about the elder days. It's not just a myth, he'd say, but a real place where only elves can go." He smiled. "How lovely, to be surrounded by peace and beauty and contentment until the unmaking of the world." 

"And elves, sir. Surrounded by elves, too." 

Frodo couldn't help but smile at Sam's enthusiasm. "Of course, especially elves. Well, eventually, many of the clans settled in Aman and more countless years passed. Then two things happened that changed the course of the world forever. First, Melkor was freed by the Valar, who believed him to be repentant, but he had not changed. He set about spreading lies and rumors to turn the elves against one another and encouraged them to rebel against the Valar. Then Feanor, one of the greatest craftsmen ever known amongst the Firstborn, created three priceless jewels known as the Silmarils. They were such a great treasure that Melkor wanted to possess them at any cost. He stole the Silmarils and escaped back to Middle-earth. Feanor and his sons swore an oath of revenge and led many of their people in pursuit of Melkor--who became known from that time on as Morgoth, the Black Enemy--against the express command of the Valar." 

He took a sip from his water bottle, his face growing solemn. A brisk breeze stirred the treetops as Sam stacked a few more branches onto the fire. "That oath caused a great deal of trouble in its keeping. Feanor and his followers murdered some of their kin in their rage and were banished from Aman. They became exiles, and when they met up with the elves that had never left Middle-earth, there was more strife and conflict." 

Frodo stopped to spread his bedroll and stretched out on his stomach, cradling his chin in his hand. He glanced over at Sam who was watching him intently, his brow furrowed. 

"I really am getting to why the elves go over the sea, Sam. You see, throughout the First Age, the elves fought against Morgoth and his servants--Sauron among them--and Feanor's sons continued to seek the Silmarils. There was open war off and on, and great, devastating battles. Men came into the world, and some befriended the elves and some stood with the Enemy. Finally, when it seemed that Morgoth would prevail at last, the Valar interceded once again on behalf of the elves. In that last war, the War of Wrath, the Valar defeated Morgoth and he was cast into the Void forever. At that time, too, Beleriand was broken and covered by the waters until only Lindon remained. 

"In the years following the war, great fleets of ships carried many of the elves, both the exiles and the others, west to Aman, though some still resisted leaving Middle-earth. It is said that those who stayed were unwilling to forsake the lands for which they had fought and suffered so long. But to this day, those elves who grow weary of these shores are allowed to cross the seas to the Blessed Realm and find peace at last." 

He fell silent, staring absently out into the deep blackness of the woods. Encountering the elves, and the story-telling after, had provided a much-needed respite from fear and worry. For a few stolen minutes he had completely forgotten about the Ring and the dangerous road ahead of them. But with the story over, the ominous reality of their situation flooded back into his mind. 

"See, I said before that it was sad, and so it is," Sam declared, rolling onto his side to face Frodo. 

Frodo shook his head, dark ringlets spilling forward to frame his face. "But it isn't, not really," he replied. "Not when you think of it as if they're going _home,_ after long difficult years here in Middle-earth. Leaving all the sorrows of the mortal world behind." 

Frodo could almost hear Sam thinking; his stubborn conviction seemed to waver and ebb as he considered the idea. When he finally spoke, it was with a touch of grudging agreement. "Well, I reckon I ain't never looked at it that way before, sir." 

"But you're not altogether wrong, either, Sam. I just don't know if sad is the right word for the elves now... bittersweet, perhaps," he mused. "Feeling neither complete joy at what lies before them nor complete sadness about what they leave behind." 

"Sounds like what Mr. Bilbo would call a bad case of mixed feelin's," 

Frodo shot him a surprised look. "Yes, indeed. And he'd also say that sometimes mixed feelings are the worst kind." 

Sam felt his face redden and was grateful for the darkness and the short distance that separated them. For once he was caught speechless, the chance remark hitting a little too close to home. 

"With the elves, I think they began to look at things differently, as the years passed in Middle-earth," Frodo said slowly. "And I would think changing one's mind would be a much longer process for them than for hobbits, for instance." 

Sam chuckled at that. "Some hobbits I know change their minds like the weather." 

"And some never change their minds at all," Frodo smiled as if at a fond memory. "Again, it comes down to seeing things differently, and that, I think, can be a frightening thing." His brow wrinkled, and when he spoke again it was almost to himself. "A little shift in perspective can transform everything around you." 

He glanced up to find Sam watching him closely, and for a drawn-out moment he returned the searching look. Then Sam lowered his eyes, embarrassed and suddenly anxious to fill the weighty silence. "This has been a most surprisin' week," he remarked, "Takin' off with you at a minute's notice, goin' farther away from home than I ever been before, and then _elves,_ sir. You know how much I wanted to see elves." 

"Yes, more than anything, you said." 

"And 'twas true when we set out. But now that I've seen 'em..." he stopped, considering. "Well, I reckon I didn't expect to find them so soon. Or to feel so sad about them, seemingly. See, there I go changin' my mind, too." 

Frodo nodded, picking distractedly at his shirt's cuff. "Since your wish has come true already, do you still want to come with me to Bree?" 

"I haven't changed my mind about that!" Sam sounded surprised and a little hurt. "I'm here to help you and look after you, and Mr. Gandalf would have my hide if I let you go on alone." He turned his face away. "And besides, if I did that, I couldn't live with myself nohow." 

"Sam," Frodo said softly, "Look at me." He did not continue until Sam raised diffident eyes to his. "I hope that you're here because you want to be, not because of Gandalf or anything else." 

Sam swallowed hard before he replied, "That I am." 

"I can't tell you..." Frodo made an effort to steady his voice before continuing. "I can't tell you how happy I am that you've come with me." 

Sam nodded. Neither moved nor spoke for another thoughtful moment. "I suppose we should get some rest," Sam finally said, hesitantly. 

"Yes, I suppose," Frodo agreed, quiet-voiced, dropping his eyes to study the weave of his blanket with great interest. 

Sam rolled over onto his back and began shifting around on his blankets, while Frodo turned away and curled up on his side, attempting to sort out his suddenly jumbled thoughts. Minutes later Sam was still squirming. 

"Everywhere I lie there's a dirty, great root stickin' into my back," he muttered fretfully. 

"Just shut your eyes and imagine you're back in your own bed, with a soft mattress and a lovely feather pillow," Frodo murmured in a soothing voice, eyes closed, wishing he could take his own advice. 

Sam continued to fidget. "It's not working, Mr. Frodo. I'm never going to be able to sleep out here," he sighed. 

"Me neither, Sam." A cricket chirped close by, punctuating the waiting hush. Frodo's eyes flew open on a wishful thought, a small comfort against fear and cold, if only... He drew a deep, shaky breath before asking, "Would you come over here next to me?"


	2. Chapter 2

Sam abruptly became so still and silent that Frodo almost could believe he had fallen asleep after all. Although he had tried to keep his voice level and neutral, the request had come out sounding like somewhat more than just an invitation to find a softer spot on which to sleep. Inwardly he cringed, wishing he could call back the impulsive words that had all too easily revealed his inner longing. 

"Sam?" 

"Sir?" 

"I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry." 

"Did you mean it?" 

"Well, yes, but..." 

"Then don't be sorry, sir, beggin' your pardon." Frodo turned over at the sound of rustling movement to find Sam gathering his bedroll. With a look on his face that reflected something akin to hope tinged with fear, he crossed the short distance to where Frodo lay, but then seemed at a loss. 

"Here, Sam," Frodo said gently, "Spread your blanket right here and lie down," and gestured to the ground just next to him. Sam knelt, seeming unwilling to meet Frodo's eyes, but did as he was told. When he had stretched out comfortably, Frodo shifted toward him slightly and extended the edge of his top blanket. "We'll be warmer if we share," he offered. 

"Oh, aye," Sam sounded a little flustered, but moved closer and then spread his own blanket over the top. "That's better." 

"No tree roots there?" Frodo asked with a hint of a smile in his voice, though his face remained serious. 

"No sir, no roots here." 

"That's good, then." 

They settled down with less than an arm's reach between them, nestled cozily against the night's growing chill. Frodo searched Sam's face for his response to what should have seemed a strange request, but found only the usual gentle acceptance there--along with an edge of keen interest as he waited for Frodo to speak. Certainly he didn't look ready to fall asleep, not now. 

Frodo expected that his turmoil and conflicting emotions showed all too clearly in his expressive eyes as he groped to find the right words for what he needed to say. "Sam." He drew a deep breath. "You've been my best friend for as long as I can remember. And I appreciate you more than you know, truly..." He paused to let a shiver of nervousness pass before continuing. "Do you remember what I said a little while ago, about looking at things differently?" 

Sam nodded wordlessly, his warm hazel eyes fixed attentively on Frodo's. 

"That has been happening to me ever since we started this journey. I realize that I've taken far too much for granted. Things I never would have questioned a week ago are all changed now." He had to look away, gazing off into blackness rather than meeting Sam's unwavering eyes any longer. 

"Aye, Mr. Frodo," Sam spoke softly into the lengthening silence. "Go on." 

Frodo knotted his fingers distractedly in the woolen blanket. "I think about Bag End, simple little everyday things, and how far away it seems already. Bilbo in his study, scratching away at his writings, and you, Sam, you would be in the gardens, whistling or singing perhaps," he said with a little wistful smile. "I realize now, looking back, that I always knew exactly where you worked. And... sometimes I would watch you." Sam's face did not show even a flicker of surprise at this revelation, he noted. 

Frodo paused, weighing his nervously quickening pulse against his need to explain the enormity of the transformation at work in him. "I never expected those things to change, but they have. _Everything_ has. Bilbo is gone, and I don't know if I shall ever see him again." His voice constricted around the sudden lump in his throat and he feared for a moment that he couldn't go on. "And you...you've come with me on this fool's errand, in the face of who knows what dangers, and I wonder at your reasons, and I know that over these past few days I've begun to see you differently, too," he finished in a breathless rush. There, it was out. Frodo sighed, oddly relieved to find that he no longer felt as if he were concealing a guilty secret. 

Sam looked thoughtful, remaining quiet for a long moment as he studied Frodo's face, a bright spot in the darkness. When he finally spoke, he chose his words with great care. "I would _never_ have let you do this thing alone, sir," he said slowly. "Per'aps Gandalf knew that--who knows what a wizard sees--but if he hadn't chose me to come with you, I would have followed you just the same. Whether you wanted me to or no." 

Frodo felt suddenly as if he stood poised at the edge of a great cliff, compelled to step off despite his fear. "And why would you do such a foolish thing, Samwise Gamgee?" he asked in an unsteady voice, anticipating but almost afraid of the answer. 

"Cause home wouldn't be home without you there, sir." 

Sam looked away as if the words were a painful confession, and Frodo became suddenly, intensely aware of the depth of feelings his friend struggled to conceal. His own emotions surged as well, tenderness and hopeless wishing and a wild flutter of irrational hope. Frodo let his eyes fall shut, hoping to collect himself. When he managed to speak, the words came out as the barest of whispers: "Come closer." 

He did not dare open his eyes, so he missed the range of emotions playing out on his friend's face: surprise, but not for long, followed by resolve to do exactly as asked and as quickly as possible. Frodo's heart skipped a beat at the instant of silence before Sam moved, but then his lips curved into a small smile. Gentle fingers touched his cheek and he looked up to find that dear, familiar face just inches from his. 

Frodo seemed to have suddenly lost his capacity for speech altogether, but when Sam held out his arms he remembered how to move, instinctively, snuggling close and dropping his head to Sam's shoulder with a sigh. Strong arms enveloped him and pulled him close with gentle protectiveness. 

Frodo found it hard to breathe--perhaps it was due to the hammering of his heart--and he buried his face in Sam's neck, weaving his fingers in unruly blond curls with a sigh. His companion smelled of soap and pipeweed, tangible reminders of home, his broad chest warm and comforting. He whispered against the tender curve of Sam's throat, "I'm such a fool, Sam. I didn't realize... until now..." 

The feel of soft lips brushing feather-light against Sam's neck sent wave after wave of shivers coursing over his skin, and the dark, curly-haired head tucked up against his shoulder felt so right it brought tears unexpectedly to his eyes. He stroked the silky ringlets with an unsteady hand, and brushed a light kiss against Frodo's forehead as he murmured, "I never thought, sir, never..." 

All Frodo's fear and inner conflict and wordless inertia were melting away, dissolved by Sam's solid, reliable presence, and he looked up, searching those hazel eyes that were now so much closer than usual. "I can't tell you..." 

A callused finger came to rest against his lips, hushing him gently. "You don't need to." Frodo covered Sam's hand with his own, kissing each fingertip lightly, delighted to watch his eyes flutter closed at the sensation. Then Frodo leaner closer still, until their lips were but a breath apart. A soft brush, tentative, a wordless question for the space of a heartbeat, answered with a sigh against his cheek. 

Ignoring the trembling of his hands, Frodo cupped Sam's face and covered his lips fully, a gentle pressure that hardly dared ask for more. He held himself motionless for what seemed an eternity until the other hobbit moved diffidently to return the kiss, awkward at first then quickly becoming more assured. Frodo remembered absently how very long it had been since he had kissed _anyone_ , but only an instant later it seemed he had been kissing Sam forever; indeed, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. 

Sam's mouth parted under his eagerly, drawing him in, seeking more. Frodo plunged his tongue deep inside, claiming and being claimed in turn. *Like drowning,* he thought as he belatedly remembered to breathe, _drowning in kisses_. Gradually they learned each other's touch and taste, their first hesitant caresses discovering the previously unknown places where a nibble or soft touch would draw a gasp or a sigh. 

At the back of his mind Frodo was vaguely aware that they should proceed slowly, if at all, knowing that much was still uncertain and unspoken, that much was at stake. But his own physical reaction was undeniable--indeed, he knew that he didn't have the strength to resist with his mind, for whatever sensible reasons, what he wanted so much with his heart and body. The sheer intensity of his desire was quickly sweeping away any lingering rational thought. 

"Oh, _Sam_ ," he whispered breathlessly. "I didn't mean... do you want...?" 

"More'n anything." The reply was equally fervent, though somewhat muffled by the fact that Sam's face was buried in the other's dark curls. 

Frodo snugged their bodies more closely together, impetuously yanking his shirttail out of his breeches in an invitation to caress skin rather than linen. The first touch raised intense, lingering shivers all over his slender body, and Sam responded by stroking every inch of skin that he could reach, from the sensitive nape of the other hobbit's neck down to the barrier formed by the waist of his trousers. 

The chill breeze suddenly gusted louder and Sam quickly tucked the forgotten blanket around Frodo's shoulders. "Are you cold?" he managed to whisper. 

Rather than answering, Frodo shifted his weight to fit their hips firmly together for the first time, shocking and thrilling them both. Sam gasped, his eyes fluttering shut, and Frodo brushed moist lips against his cheek. "I've quite forgotten about the cold, Sam. Haven't you?" 

He might have chuckled at his friend's spluttering inability to reply, if he had not been so thoroughly distracted himself. The feel of Sam so close and intimate, his obvious arousal mirroring Frodo's own, was almost more than he could bear. He captured Sam's mouth again for a deep, unrelenting kiss and pressed his hips insistently against him, hard and eager. 

Sam's response was quick and unambiguous as he curled a leg possessively over the slighter hobbit. His hand paused at the small of Frodo's back before gliding down to cup a firm, rounded cheek, kneading and squeezing, starting a slow rhythm between them. Frodo moaned softly, becoming helpless to do anything but kiss Sam desperately and cling to him. Too soon he surrendered to the intensity of the moment, tangling slim fingers in thick blond curls as he cried out in sudden, shuddering release. 

Sam held him close until Frodo could think and breathe once more, stroking his new lover's finely muscled back with gentle fingers. Quite beyond words, Frodo buried his face in the other hobbit's neck and slipped a hand between them, groping for trouser buttons. Sam started to speak and thought better of it, instead guiding Frodo's hand to the hard ridge in his breeches. Just a few quick, steady strokes through the coarse cloth were enough to cause Sam to thrust hard once, twice, then to bite his lip against the shout that accompanied his climax. 

The wind whistled through the tops of the trees. Nearby some small creature rustled through the brush, oblivious. The campfire had died away to a mere glow of embers, but its heat was no longer needed. Frodo and Sam lay wrapped in each other's arms, silent, heedless of wet trousers, hard ground or cold air as they fell into blissful, exhausted sleep, together--and comfortable--at last. 

-end-


End file.
